


Full Speed Ahead

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blacksmith Castiel, Blacksmithing, Cute, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Knight Dean Winchester, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26574850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Cas knows the sound better than the clinks and clanks of his metal or the crackling of his coal. He stops by every Friday like clockwork, decked in full chainmail, armor, and cape swinging gracefully around his tall, lean stature as he saunters in.Cas tosses his gloves on the counter and nods in greeting. "Dean."
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 102





	Full Speed Ahead

Cas knows the sound better than the clinks and clanks of his metal or the crackling of his coal. He stops by every Friday like clockwork, decked in full chainmail, armor, and cape swinging gracefully around his tall, lean stature as he saunters in.

Cas tosses his gloves on the counter and nods in greeting. "Dean."

"Cas,” Dean returns. The freckles around his nose, wrinkling from the stale smell of coal, are like pennies at the bottom of a wishing fountain the way they’re scattered at random across his cheekbones, and shine almost as bright as his smile in direct sunlight. "How's business today?"

"Pretty steady,” Cas replies, brandishing the large duffel with Dean’s order, setting it on the counter between them. “Axes are in season, so.”

"For beheading the chicken, yeah?"

"Look at you,” Cas preens.

"Hey, I may be a knight, but I know my way around a mean chicken stew. That's a little concerning though, don't you think?" Dean poses. "There's only so many heads you can chop before they aren't chicken anymore."

"That's your pay grade, not mine. I just supply the metal."

Instead of carting off with the arsenal right away, Dean takes a moment to appreciate the shop, shifting his focus to the various size swords and daggers adorning the faded red brick walls. "You know, I always wanted to be a blacksmith."

"Really?"

"Really," he affirms, plucking one of the larger swords from its metal holders. He flips the blade around in his hands several times, turning one of its faces towards Cas. Cas catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection. His hair’s a little outgrown for his liking, wispy brown hair sticking together in clumps, settling as bangs over his forehead. The bags under his eyes are a little more prominent along with the wrinkles around his eyes and his facial hair is coming in again. “What does this say, this etching running vertical?”

“It’s Enochian,” Cas says, “It means ‘Protected by angels’.”

Dean hums in surprise. “I didn’t peg you for being religious.”

“When you’re a commoner, you can use all the help from a higher power you can get.”

Frowning, Dean places the sword back on its holder. "It must be cool to know you can take a scrap piece of metal and turn it into something pretty.”

"I mean, it's not all that glamorous. Not like fighting wars for the King."

"Wars aren't so glamorous either,” Dean says, scrunching his face for emphasis. "Too much blood."

They both laugh, joined by the soft crackling of the fire behind them.

Dean’s the first to break the chorus of mirth: "Well hey, thank you again. Seriously, we'd probably be impaled without your armor. And the craftsmanship of the swords is immaculate."

"Always happy to support the troops,” Cas says. “Even if one of the troops in question doesn't know how to use a dagger."

"Please, my stubble looks great,” Dean argues.

"And it would look even better without chunks of your skin missing."

"I disagree; scars build character."

"Well, I happen to like your beard, even if it covers half your face."

"It's a hit with the men. The ladies, not so much." Dean’s shrug and proceeding grin is nothing short of impish: "Chafing and all."

"Is that who you're trying to impress?” Cas asks, “the ladies?"

"Not lately, no,” Dean replies, throwing the duffel over his shoulder. It clinks and clatters in protest. “The royal family keeps us busy. New land to conquer and all that."

Cas huffs a laugh and watches Dean turn on his heels before he’s spinning on his own. “Oh Dean, before you go," he says, swinging around the counter before facing Dean again with a necklace. It’s nothing too intricate—the black string was from a pile of metal donated by the local miners—except maybe the Enochian ‘D’ carved into the iron pendant. "You mentioned your love of arrowheads once. I had some spare time and some iron that was too small to be used for commissions…"

Dean composes himself from his mouth hanging agape to drop the duffel. He grabs the necklace by the pendant and slips it over his head. He looks down at it one last time before turning to Cas with a deep-creased smile. "I love it, Cas. Thank you."

“Iron is said to repel spirits and other monsters,” Cas adds, “I know you don’t fight those, but I thought you could use all the protection you can get in the line of battle.”

"Oh my God,” Lee, the other knight on horseback outside, gripes, “you got your friendship necklace, can we go now?"

"Hold our horses, man, Jesus!” Dean yells before facing Cas again. "See you next Friday?”

"I haven’t gotten an update on anymore incoming orders from the royal family just yet.”

"Bummer."

"Really?"

"Of course, really. Why do you think I've been coming in here with fresh cuts on my face?" Dean says, scratching the back of his neck. "I hate shaving. But you keep yours clean-cut, so I thought you might prefer it this way."

It’s Cas’s turn for his mouth to drop. "Dean, you're gorgeous. You don't have to change a thing about yourself to impress me. Look at me,” he says, scoffing as he tugs on the shoulders of his long-sleeve white blouse rolled up to his elbows, “I'm covered in soot!"

Dean rolls his eyes and, to Cas’s surprise, pulls him in by his apron. Dean’s lips are soft—and pliant when Cas parts his own to get a better taste—unlike the calloused hands that swipe across his cheek. "Got it.” He pulls back to reveal a toothy smile along with a sooty thumb. "And I’ve also really got to go. Call me?"

"Too much yelling.” Cas steals one more kiss. “I'll send you a message through the pigeon post."

“Nothing dirty, I hope,” Dean says as he throws the duffel back over him again. “You know it takes me an hour every day to get down to the village.”

“Tell Baby it’s full speed ahead,” Cas replies, splitting into a grin.

Right on cue, Baby can be heard whinnying and stomping her hooves.

“You know,” Cas says, “I could make her some new horseshoes if she’s going to be coming this way more often. That’ll give you a work-related reason to come back on Friday.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, smiling wide again, “I’d love that. I’m sure she would too.”

He bids Cas one last goodbye with his free hand once he’s settled back on Baby’s saddle and, in a few clicks, they’re gone—leaving nothing but a trail of dust in their wake.

Cas looks forward to Friday more than ever. 


End file.
